


Completing a circuit.

by FallingFaintly



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Confident Cormoran, F/M, Holding Hands, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27961421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingFaintly/pseuds/FallingFaintly
Summary: Robin and Strike connect.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 59
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

Michelle had been working for the agency for 6 months and Robin considered it one of the best moves they had made since she broke Morris’s nose and they sacked him without ceremony. Maybe it was the whole ‘new broom’ aspect of being in a new office space too. Michelle was experienced, confident, and seemed to view Robin herself as a competent colleague, rather than a rival or a lesser. It had been a joy to get to know a woman who had faced so many similar issues working in a male dominated environment and was more interested in camaraderie than competition.

In fact, Robin mused, as they sat together in the pub, she with her white wine, Michelle with her G&T, she hadn’t felt as professionally warm towards anyone but Strike himself. He would normally have joined them for an end of the week drink, along with Barclay if family duties hadn’t claimed him, but Strike had been away this week visiting Ted in St Mawes and wasn’t due back until tomorrow. The thought gave Robin a little uplift in an already buoyant mood.

Michelle had been talking about a particularly tricky period of her career, and balancing relationships, and Robin realized that she’d zoned out as Michelle seemed to be waiting for a reply.

“Sorry, am I being dull?” Michelle asked, and it was quite clear there was playfulness in her tone.

“Sorry, was just thinking about Strike getting back tomorrow,” she replied. “I should give him a ring and see what time his train gets in.”

“Right. That’s what I’m talking about. Balancing relationships and career. It’s a challenge,” Michelle said, her eyebrow quirking a little in amusement.

Robin blinked, startled. “Oh, we’re not…”

She trailed off. Michelle was smiling quite warmly, and Robin realized she didn’t actually know how to end the sentence. Her colleague seemed to take a second to think, and then said,

“You know, I remember how I felt when I first accepted I was gay. I’d danced about it for years, and eventually it hit me what a bloody waste of time it was to pretend I had no interest in romance.”

Robin, her brow slightly creased, cocked her head to one side, curious about the direction the conversation had taken.

“I thought it was fine; I was career-minded, busy. Batting away attention from men was par for the course. And then I met this woman, Deb, and I suddenly knew that the reason I had been batting the men away wasn’t just because I was focused on my job. It was because they never had a hope of hitting the spot,” Michelle continued.

“Did you never suspect beforehand?” Robin asked, sipping her wine.

“Oh, I had an inkling, sure. But there’s something about that spark of attraction that hits you in the gut,” she replied. “You might try and pretend not to notice, and you might not have the words to describe it, or know what category to put it in, but once you do, it’s inescapable.”

Robin smiled, trying to convey an air of understanding that she wasn’t sure she had about what Michelle meant, and her mind flitted back to a moment from a couple of years before, when she had caught a glimpse of Strike briefly raising his hand to his mouth after they had accidently almost-kissed. It seemed a left field memory, particularly as she had actually kissed him on the cheek on purpose a couple of times since, and indeed their interactions since her birthday, and the Ritz, had been increasingly warm. Strike had always been respectful, and professional, but something in the atmosphere had definitely already shifted.

“Do you..?” Robin began.

“What?” Michelle asked.

“Do you think you can still not be sure, though, for a while afterwards?” Robin finished.

“’Course. It’s not like there’s a rule book and a nice clear line going from ‘we get on well and like each other’ to ‘I really fancy her, and I’d like to kiss her’. Especially for women. Women are allowed to be more touchy feely without any suggestion of sex, and it means you can end up wondering if you’re misreading a situation,” Michelle explained.

“So how can you be sure?” Robin asked, leaning forward in interest.

Michelle looked at her quizzically for a second.

“Same as you’re sure with a bloke,” she replied.

Robin hesitated, as something chimed in the back of her mind.

“I’m not.. I’m not really certain how that works either, to be honest,” she admitted, somewhat ruefully.

“Well, sexual attraction is complicated, I guess. What works for one person might not work for another. You’ve been married, though. You’ve got some frame of reference,” Michelle said.

Robin twisted up the side of her mouth and rolled her eyes. “We met at school. I’m not sure the dynamics work the same way when you’re adult,” she said.

Michelle shrugged slightly. “Maybe,” she said. “But I tend to think of it in terms of The Beatles.”

Robin laughed a little. “The Beatles?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Michelle laughed in response. “It’s asking yourself ‘Do I wanna hold your hand?’”

Robin wrinkled her nose slightly as she laughed a little more. “Really?” She asked, incredulity and curiosity mixing in her tone. “You can hold hands without it being sexual, though.”

“Sure you can. And then you know that it’s not that kind of feeling,” Michelle acknowledged, finishing the last of her G&T, and catching the eye of the barman for another. Robin shook her head lightly, declining another glass of wine. She was suddenly far too interested in the topic of hand holding to want any distractions, and again that brief, long forgotten image of Strike’s hand lightly brushing his own lips flashed in her mind.

Michelle seemed to sense from Robin’s curious body language that she was keen to hear more, carrying on as she automatically ran through the now commonplace action of holding her debit card over the contactless handset.

“But if you like someone, think how you might feel if you held their hand. Touched them in the lightest ways – I don’t even mean the bits we usually cover with clothes. Nothing that’s going to tip it over the line of appropriate. People touch each other casually a million times a day without sparks flying. The guy at the drive-through might touch your hand as he passes you the bag with a big mac in it, but you’re unlikely to get turned on by it,” she smiled. “But if you’ve got something with someone, even the briefest of moments where your fingers touch can set you on _fire_.”

Robin could feel herself blushing. She smiled through the heat in her cheeks. “I’ve not been on fire in forever,” she said, embarrassed.

“Well that’s not on, Robin. Every woman deserves some fire,” Michelle was emphatic. “Unless you plan on becoming a nun, fire is a must. How long has it been?” She asked, lightly, and Robin was suddenly grateful that their male colleagues were both otherwise occupied this evening. She had come to this place of friendship with Michelle – she was nowhere near it with Barclay, and as for Strike? She shifted in her seat.

“I’m not sure.” Robin replied. “And if you’re talking about fire, then longer than that anyway.” It was quite an admission, even to herself. Matt had been caring in the bedroom, at least, most of the time. But the few times Robin had hit something better that a warm glow had almost been accidental. She couldn’t even put in words how much a part of her craved something hotter – it was a subtle pressure in the core of her, a longing for breath-taking intensity, something which would mean she needed to cling to broad shoulders for support. She took a steadying breath in through the nose, aware that she had been thinking about specific broad shoulders.

“Can I be honest with you?” Michelle asked.

“Wouldn’t be out of character!” Robin said and they both smiled.

“You’re an attractive woman, and I suspect you don’t have a huge amount of confidence about that. I think that if you decide you want _someone,_ your main problem will be you, not them,” Michelle told her, their eyes locking as she took another mouthful of gin.

“You think?” Robin returned to her tone of incredulous curiosity.

“I do. I think you don’t really believe you could have a man eating out of your hand if you really wanted it,” she replied.

“Maybe I don’t want them eating out of my hand!” Robin said lightly, taking a rather too large gulp of her wine, trying to deflect a little.

“Ok, how about anywhere else?” Michelle returned archly

“Michelle!!” Robin spluttered, laughing.

“Come _on_ , Robin,” Michelle smiled, gesturing with her right hand for emphasis. “You’re telling me there is no one who you’ve thought might be a good time?”

A smile played round Robin’s lips, and she shook her head slightly, but she didn’t say no.

“I’ve honestly not given it much thought,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” Michelle replied, eyebrow quirking again. They made eye contact again, and there was a slight pause. “Look, I’m not telling you what to do, ok?” She continued. “I just hate to see a woman miss an obvious opportunity for happiness.”

“I am happy, Michelle. Really, I am,” Robin affirmed.

“I’m sure you are. And I’m sure you could be even happier with some electricity, especially when it’s there just waiting to be switched on,” Michelle folded her arms and left the statement to hang in the air for a minute.

Robin was mute, unable to formulate a response. Michelle checked her phone for the time.

“Look, Rob, I’ve got to get home,” she said, beginning the ritual of collecting herself to signal the evening was drawing to a close.

“Yeah, it’s getting on,” Robin replied, feeling a sense of something bubbling away on simmer, things she wanted to say but couldn’t scramble the words together to express. “I still need to call Strike.”

Michelle smiled, and paused once she’d pulled her coat on. “Yeah. You do,” she said. “Bloke might need a handhold.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Robin. You alright?” Strike answered the phone within seconds of Robin pressing call. They often spoke at the end of the day now, and she had become accustomed to him being the last voice she heard before sleep.

“Yeah, just checking in about tomorrow. What time do you expect to get in?” She asked. She was already snuggled into bed, her last hot drink of the night half-finished already.

“I get into Paddington about half three,” he replied. “You still ok to pick me up?”

“Yeah, of course. How’s it been?” Robin asked.

“Ok. We got most of the stuff out of the loft, and Polworth has a lock up to store it for Ted. Roof’s been needing doing for years, and we had to chuck some things because there were leaks. Some photos. He was a bit upset.” Strike said, and Robin could hear the unhappy sigh in his voice that indicated it wasn’t just Ted that had been upset.

“Oh no, not pictures. That’s hard,” Robin commiserated.

“Yeah,” Strike agreed. “Still, we did find plenty we hadn’t seen in years, so it wasn’t all bad.”

“School reports? Battered old teddies? Pictures of you in short trousers?” She teased.

“Something like that!” He laughed in return.

“Alright, well, everything is good here, so I’ll see you at half three. Text me if you need to,” Robin said, tamping down a need to keep the conversation going.

“Will do,” Strike replied, and after an almost imperceptible pause, “’Night Robin.”

“’Night.”

Robin plugged her phone into the charging cable and set it down on her bedside table, finishing the last of her drink before shuffling further down the bed. She noticed a feeling similar to the night before a holiday and allowed herself to enjoy it as she drifted into sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, trouble,” Strike said as he pulled the door to the Land Rover closed.

“Good journey?” Robin asked, checking her mirrors before pulling out of the parking space.

“Not too bad,” he replied, pushing his holdall between them into the back. “Some talk about a points failure at St Austell so I thought there might be a delay, but it was fine once we got going. Starving, though.”

“There’s a pack of digestives in the glove box,” Robin told him, enjoying his face light up as he leaned forward to open it. She noticed his hands as he ripped open the biscuits and felt her cheeks flush as she realized how much she enjoyed how enthusiastic he was.

“Want one?” He asked, mouth half full of biscuit, and she shook her head with a smile.

“Where to, then? I suppose you’ll want to go straight to Nick and Ilsa’s,” Robin asked as they pulled up to a junction.

Strike had leaned back in the seat and let out a long breath. “Yeah. I could do with a shower and a rest. Bloody ridiculous how sitting on a train can make you so tired.”

Robin snatched a glance at his profile, his eyes closed, jawline covered with scruffy stubble, curly hair unruly and his usual mild aura of casual dishevelment. She was so pleased to see him.

Once they reached Nick and Ilsa’s, and Robin turned the engine off, there was a moment of calm in which the Land Rover felt like a bubble of safety, and she knew it was because Strike was there. He yawned, suddenly, drawing his hand up to his mouth, and the previous evening’s conversation with Michelle and the even earlier memory of his hand at his mouth in brief reverie of a kiss that wasn’t a kiss came to her mind. He gave an involuntary shudder as his hand came down again on the seat between them, and a tiny bit of boldness in Robin pushed her to take her hands off the steering wheel and rest her left hand next to his right. She shifted her hand so that her little finger touched his, and if she hadn’t been unconsciously holding her breath, she might have gasped aloud at the sudden sensation that felt like an electric charge right up her arm and into her heart. It was the longest three seconds of her life, and then her courage failed her and she started breathing again.

“Right then, shall we get you in?” She said and snatched her hand away like it was burning. Strike gave no indication of having noticed, and simply nodded. Stepping out of the car, Robin didn’t even allow herself a moment, deciding it was more sensible to just plough into busy and not examine how or why she was feeling the way she was.

Nick and Ilsa were delighted to see them both, and Ilsa flicked the kettle on and told them to sit down, while Nick took Strike’s bag to the spare room. Strike flopped into the sofa, while Robin sat down more carefully. She was aware that she looked a bit prim, with her sudden, inexplicable nerves, so she took a breath to steady herself and leaned back in the seat, kicking off her shoes and hitching one leg underneath her thigh.

Ilsa was busy with questions, which Strike was answering, sat comfortably as he was, left arm propped on the arm of the sofa, his head resting on the back. Robin was just thinking how nice it was to hear his rumbling tone close up, as opposed to over the phone, when she felt that shock of electricity hit her heart again from her hand, and she realized his right hand was next to hers again, concealed from anyone else’s view by her hitched up leg. Her electrified heart had sped up as she glanced down surreptitiously and realized that he had not only put his hand there, but he had hooked his little finger around hers. She shot a glance at him, but he was replying to Ilsa with his eyes closed. Perhaps it was simple tiredness, she reasoned, and he was just doing it subconsciously.

Perhaps he was now tracing his finger up and down hers without even registering what he was doing, too. She could barely breath and took a second to realize Ilsa had repeated a question.

“Sorry, I, er, yeah, it’s been a quiet week at work,” Robin stammered out, trying to sound even.

She glanced back over to Strike, who had raised his head from the back of the sofa and opened his eyes, and she registered a twinkle there. She looked down at their hands and noticed he didn’t follow her gaze, instead keeping his expression light and inscrutable, continuing the conversation with Ilsa, but moving his hand slightly further over hers, still out of sight, now tracing both ring finger and little finger up and down hers.

Robin was beginning to feel quite light-headed, even as she sat quite still, and managed half a rueful smile as she recalled Michelle’s comments about sparks. Before she had registered herself doing it, she flipped her hand over in silent invitation, and Strike didn’t miss a beat as he covered her hand with his own, entwining their fingers and running his thumb in circles on her palm. She felt her breath hitch in excitement, and allowed herself to shift in her seat slightly, so that their hands were even better concealed behind her thigh.

Heart thumping, she shot him another look, and there was a definite grin he wasn’t trying to conceal, though he still made no eye contact with her, and the intimate secret they now shared was doing things to her she couldn’t name but couldn’t mistake, either. She couldn’t hold back the smallest of laughs and had to look away and lightly cover her mouth with her other hand.

“Are you alright, Robin?” Ilsa asked, fetching the milk from the fridge.

“Yeah, what’s so funny?” Strike asked, making eye contact for the first time, and not taking his hand away from hers, and Robin could have sworn he completed an electric circuit between them when he did so.

“Oh, I just… I just remembered something Michelle said last night,” Robin said, half truthfully. “Nothing important,” she added. That bit was a lie.

“Oh, I like Michelle,” Ilsa affirmed. “She seems like she’d be good fun in the right mood.” She was happily distracted now putting the milk away so she wouldn’t have noticed that Robin and Strike hadn’t broken the eye contact since he made it, and the air between them was almost tangibly fizzing.

“There you go, Oggy, all set again, like you’ve never been away!” Nick announced as he came back in, and Robin looked down and pulled her hand away, aware that Nick would have a clear view from where he was.

“Home sweet home,” Strike replied, and Robin allowed herself to cast a look at him. His expression was even again, and she couldn’t read the sideways glance he gave her. Ilsa came over with their mugs and they both leaned forward to take them with thanks. Taking a sip of hers and putting it down on a coaster, Robin stalled before leaning back as she felt Strike’s large hand unmistakably rest halfway up her back for two seconds as he took a much larger gulp of tea and set his mug down next to hers, but not on a coaster. It was gone a second later as he sat back again, but she could still feel the light pressure and registered that she wanted him to put his hand back there, or indeed anywhere on her at all. She cleared her throat slightly and gave a positive reply to Ilsa’s suggestion that she stay for dinner. She took another mouthful of tea before resuming the reclined, hitched up leg position, and decided to chase the feeling instead of running scared.

She returned her hand to the secret place between them, palm up, fingers relaxed, repeating the silent invitation just as before, only this time quite deliberately. She took a slow steady breath in as she felt Strike trace down her wrist with his ring finger and then run his fingertips lightly over her palm before claiming her entire hand in a squeeze that seemed to be about so much more than clumsy affection. It felt to Robin like, if she didn’t know better, a statement of intent, and she suddenly responded physically in a completely different part of herself, swallowing hard, and shifting her hips and clearing her throat to cover the small moan of longing that had escaped her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

Ilsa had made a lasagne that was about 2 feet long and four hands deep, but Robin knew it would all go from the approving noises Strike and Nick were making. Her own appetite for food had fled, but she knew that her stomach would only making a rumbling protest all evening if she didn’t eat something, so she resolved to finish the first offering and refuse seconds. She was giving dinner plans far too much attention because Strike had only just returned from a post-travel shower and she didn’t want to dwell too much on how the lack of his hand in hers felt unnatural. More than once she stopped herself as she registered that she was wistfully rubbing her thumb and fingers together, trying to conjure up the electricity that still lingered from the memory of his touch alone.

“No, I’ve never had an issue with Robin in the driving seat,” Strike was saying to Nick as he passed him the cutlery out of the drawer. “She’s the best driver I know, hands down.”

The sound of her name drew the room back into focus, and she took a breath and accepted the compliment with a self-deprecating smile. “I enjoy it,” she said, by way of unnecessary explanation.

As Ilsa spooned a portion onto a plate that Robin already knew she would struggle to finish, Strike seated himself at the breakfast bar and caught her eye, gesturing at the seat next to him with a silent nod of the head, quick enough for the other two not to notice. His hair was still slightly damp after he’d roughly towel dried it, and his shirt had about three buttons open at the top. She felt herself flush in pleasure and slipped onto the stool.

“I’m never going to finish this!” Robin laughed as Ilsa slid the plate over, and she picked up the fork, preparing to do battle with the mound of meat and pasta.

“S’alright, I’m quite sure I can help you out with that,” Strike told her, already two huge forkfuls in. Nick opened a bottle of red to go with the food and passed Ilsa the first glass with a kiss on her cheek. Robin caught it and smiled. She really enjoyed being an observer to their relationship, knowing about the hard times they had as well as the good. She took a bite of the lasagne and made an approving noise.

“Mmm, so good, Ilsa. You didn’t use Dolmio for this!” She said and adjusted her expectation of how much she would be able to eat.

“I should say not!” Ilsa replied in mock offence. “Bechamel from scratch, with nutmeg I grated myself, I’ll have you know.”

Robin made a defensive hand gesture, leaning back a little, her knees falling open as she balanced on the stool. It wasn’t until she took her next bite that she realized her left knee was resting, not on furniture as she had thought for a split second, but on Strike’s thigh. She whipped it away quickly and shot him a look. He was chewing, and she wondered if he’d missed it, and then he made eye contact, a smile playing round his lips, and she swallowed her next mouthful hastily as she felt his large hand under the table on her knee, pulling it back to rest against his thigh. Her eyes widened and he lifted one eyebrow, flashing a properly cocky smile before shovelling another mouthful of lasagne in.

Robin closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head a little in disbelief at the situation, and running her free hand through her hair absently.

“So what are your plans for the weekend?” Strike asked her. He hadn’t moved his hand away from her knee, and she felt the full force of his attention. She steeled herself to speak with a normal tone.

“Sunday lie in, I reckon,” she answered, and then wished she could pull that suggestion back. She hadn’t thought it through. Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred to her that her own subconscious was betraying her, and it was quite obvious Strike and her subconscious were on the same team from the expression on his face.

“You’ve probably earned it,” Strike nodded magnanimously. “Although the office is closer to your place now, so technically you’re making up for all those years of it falling to me. All’s fair,” he shrugged, giving her knee a light squeeze. She dropped her fork.

“Shit!” She exclaimed as it clattered to the floor, and she leapt backwards, the sudden loss of pressure on her knee a mixed blessing, as she took the few seconds available as she slipped off the stool and bent down for the fork to compose herself. She snapped back up and Strike had already got off his own stool to fetch her another fork, which he presented to her with a flourish while he took a large, enthusiastic mouthful of wine, mischievous eyes locked on hers.

“Thanks,” she muttered, and couldn’t help noticing that a look passed between Ilsa and Nick that was pure knowing.

She managed to finish the rest of her meal without forgetting any more basic motor control, and Strike now seemed to have decided to be merciful while she ate, only occasionally adjusting his position so that his thigh bumped against her knee briefly before moving it away again. It was enough to set her off balance, though, and she deliberately didn’t do more than nod and make acquiescing noises throughout the rest of the conversation.

“More wine?” Ilsa asked, holding the green bottle up as Nick cleared away the plates.

“No, I, er, I think half a glass is my limit, I have to get home,” Robin said, her hand over the top of the glass.

“Yes, please,” Strike returned, holding his glass firmly forward. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can stay if you want, Robin,” Ilsa said, a little too lightly.

“No, it’s fine,” Robin insisted, curling up a little inside at the recognition of Ilsa’s usual pattern of brick-like subtlety. “I’ve not got anything with me,” she added, by way of explanation.

She pulled herself off the seat and Strike mirrored her, adjusting his waistband as he did so. She stole a glance at him, expecting maybe some more fiery eye contact, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was, instead, flashing the briefest of stern glares at Ilsa, who seemed to shrink down a little like a chastened toddler.

“Right then,” he said warmly, turning to Robin. “I’ll see you out.” Ilsa wasn’t even trying not to smile broadly at this point, unrepentant.

Robin gathered up her shoes and other bits, and bid Nick and Ilsa goodnight, and felt again the light pressure of Strike’s hand on her mid-back as they went out into the hall. He’d never been the kind of man to do it casually before, but the shift in their intimacy in this last year, and certainly in the last five hours, meant it was anything but casual.

Out in the hallway, out of sight of the eager ministrations of Ilsa, she looked up at Strike, who cast a glance backwards, obviously checking for Ilsa craning her neck round to keep tabs on events. When he looked back at Robin, his eyes were softer, but still playful.

“You ok?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she responded. She wasn’t sure about that, and it probably showed. She could feel her brow was furrowed in confusion. She’d taken a wild chance in the Land Rover when they’d arrived, but it had been a tiny movement forward, just to see. She stood here, feeling like she’d unleashed a tidal wave, and she really wasn’t certain how to act.

Strike seemed hesitant for the first time all evening, and at once she was certain she was regretful about that. His confidence had been quite terrifying on one level, but as always, he made her feel safe despite that, and now she was sorry to see any retreat.

“I’ll call you later,” she told him, glancing down at her shoes and back up again. “Let you know I’ve got back safe.”

“Please,” he nodded, and then bent down quickly and kissed her cheek. She gasped at the speed and unexpectedness, and she was a little disappointed he’d gone for her cheek, which made her furrow her brow further. He pulled himself up taller, and she realized he’d read her frown as disapproval, and she nearly said something to contradict that impression, but it occurred to her that she didn’t know what would do that, so she pulled her coat closed and moved to the door. It was awkward and she hated that after an entire evening of stunning physical intimacy, now they were briefly alone, she felt quite a distance between them, and she had no idea how to close it again. Or even if she should.

“I will,” she emphasized, pulling the door open and looking back. Strike took a step towards her, and she thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Emotions churning in her chest, she stepped out into the evening air and briefly closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She wanted him to follow her. When she looked back, he was standing at the door, his eyes full of questions, but he didn’t verbalize any of them. Trying to grab back some of the fragile bravery that had kicked the whole evening off, Robin smiled.

“It was a nice evening,” she said. It seemed such a weak thing to say, but she needed to say something, and not leave this awkward feeling hanging in the air.

“It was _great_ ,” Strike replied, and it felt like he was reaching out to her with words, even if one hand was in his trouser pocket and the other was holding the top of the open door.

“’Night then,” Robin said after a second.

“’Night, Robin,” He nodded, and she couldn’t take any more and got in the car, holding up her hand in a brief wave as she pulled away. She didn’t realize until she got to the end of the street that she was blinking back tears.

~~~~~~~~~~

Robin opened the front door and as she closed it behind her, she slumped against the wall and groaned. She had spent the car journey home trying to concentrate, swallowing down tears she didn’t understand, alternating between sheer panic at what the evening might have meant, crushing disappointment that it might have meant nothing at all, and enormous longing to go back and say, yes, please, she’d love to stay.

She made herself a cup of tea, and changed into her night things, barely registering how it happened that she found herself in her bed again, just as the night before, looking at her phone and thinking about phoning Strike. What would she say? The prospect of another awkward, stilted conversation was too horrible to contemplate, and she set the phone down on the bedside table, and picked up her mug instead.

Running through the evening again, she spent a few minutes dwelling on the pleasure of his hand holding hers, and the secret teasing he had indulged, and she knew a line had been crossed that couldn’t be ignored. There was no pretending it hadn’t happened. But what exactly had happened? What had she invited from him, and what was he offering her? She knew they would have to talk about it properly, but she could hardly formulate what was going on in her heart at the moment, let alone work out how to instigate a conversation about it. She decided to text him instead of calling.

**Home safe. We should talk.**

Then, on impulse, she added a heart emoji and pressed send. She regretted it instantly but she couldn’t pull it back from the ether any more than she could unsay that she was planning a lie-in tomorrow morning. She dropped her phone on the duvet and put her head in her hands, before flopping back in frustrated defeat on the bed. She flicked out her light. Perhaps the emotional exertion of the evening had wrung her out, but she was asleep less than ten minutes later.

~~~~~~~~~~

_Robin was in her bedroom in Masham. The angles were slightly off centre and the colour of the walls wasn’t quite right, but she knew it was her room because of how she felt – secure, but somehow constricted. She wished that her mum would redecorate it, sweep it clean of all the memories. As she turned, she realized there were only three walls, and on the open side, instead of the view from her window, she could see the bustle and busy of Denmark Street, late night, outside the old office. She felt a rush of excitement and wanted to run but her legs felt like lead, and she couldn’t move out of her room into the street. She balled up her fists in the effort to move, and suddenly felt hands on her shoulders from behind. At first she thought it was Matt, because that’s who she expected, and she assumed they were trying to hold her back, but as she looked at the hands, she realized they were much bigger, more powerful than Matt’s, and with a start she realized that she was being kissed on the back of her neck. The sensation crackled down her spine and seemed to loosen her heavy legs and she found she could move freely. She turned to see who had been kissing her, and she saw Cormoran, his eyes dancing with mischief, all unruly curls and solid, strong shoulders. She felt bold, and the room seemed to dissolve, and as she allowed him to envelop her and melt into a kiss, her entire body was aflame with a desire so intense she could feel an orgasm rushing towards her even as she was also aware she was sleeping. As it took her, there was a strong buzz repeating on her stomach, over and over and over…_

Robin opened her eyes, and slowly realized her phone was ringing, where she had dropped it on top of her duvet. Blinking in the darkness as the blue light of the phone glared, she looked at the time. It was 3am. Still coming to, she registered Strike’s name on the screen. She pressed accept.

“Strike?” She asked, aware she sounded croaky, her throat dry. As she said his name, her dream rushed back into focus and she sat bolt upright. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, Robin. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I couldn’t leave it. I tried, but I couldn’t. You’re right, we need to talk. Are you ok if we do it now?” He said, and she had the strongest sensation that he had been rehearsing the sentence a few times.

“Now?” She echoed. “On the phone?”

“I was hoping we could do it face to face. ‘S’Important,” he clarified.

“Ok,” Robin agreed, slowly, her mind trying to work out how long it would take for him to get to her, and thinking she could do with cleaning her teeth and needed to have a hot drink as her throat was a little sore.

“Can you let me in, then?” Strike said.

“What?”

“It’s pissing down out here.”

Robin went to the window and saw him standing on the pavement.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” She chided down the phone, even as she raced to the front door, her heart suddenly pounding with excitement.

She pulled the door open to see him on the doorstep, rain beading on the shoulders of his big coat, his hair drenched. He still held the phone to his ear, and she still held hers to her own, even as they stood looking at each other.

“Making an arse of myself,” he said into the phone, and she burst out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea here is to stay in Robin's head as much as possible. I'm dying to dip into Strike's perspective, but I'm really interested in exploring her embracing what she feels for Strike. I knew where I wanted to go with it, but it was actually quite emotional to write even though I knew the awkwardness was going to be resolved. So apologies if it's hard to read too.


	3. Chapter 3

He ended the call and dropped the phone into his pocket, as Robin motioned emphatically for him to come out of the rain. He was sodden and dripping as he stood just inside the door as she closed it behind him, waiting for her cue.

“Go through, for god’s sake, you’re wringing wet. I’ll grab a towel,” she said, practical despite the emotions coursing through her. He moved up to the lounge, and she diverted to the airing cupboard, fishing out a large, clean, dry towel. She hugged it to herself for a second before she closed the door. This was a conversation she didn’t want to mess up, and she took a steadying breath in, blew it slowly out again, and nodded wordlessly to the towels which remained in the cupboard.

“Here you go,” she said, handing Strike the towel. He had pulled the coat off and draped it over the back of a dining chair.

“Cheers,” he replied, unfolding the white fluffy bundle and first using it to vigorously rub his dripping hair.

“I need a hot drink, I’ve been asleep,” Robin said, moving to the kitchen to put the kettle on. “D’you want one?” She asked.

“Shit, yeah. Sorry,” Strike said, and she knew he meant for waking her up.

She was partly sorry herself. She glanced back over to him, as he tried to gauge which bits were wettest and needed most towel attention, and remembered the exhilarating intensity of her dream, and how it was only a kiss that had detonated the feeling inside her. She allowed a smile to quirk round her lips, and she chewed the end of her thumb as it occurred to her how more than a kiss, and more than a dream might feel.

“Coffee ok?” She asked, realizing her breath had quickened and needing to feel clear headed to have a conversation. She decided on the brevity of instant coffee when he said yes, and poured in the hot water. When she brought over the mugs, Strike had peeled off his jumper and dropped it in a heap at his feet. The shirt he wore underneath was damp round the collar, and his hair had the same roughly dried wildness it had from before dinner the evening before. As he took the mug with a smile, she thought he looked wonderful, and the pressure to get this right felt even heavier.

They sat on the sofa, and Robin pulled both her feet up, cross-legged, facing him. She held the mug in both hands, taking a mouthful of coffee and watching him rub the towel round the back of his neck again, before leaving it crumpled over the arm of the sofa behind him. He gulped in some coffee himself before putting the mug down. She watched him, unsure how to break the quiet. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it was thick with anticipation. She needn’t have worried. He leaned forward, closer to her.

“Robin, I don’t want to piss about anymore. I’m not going to spend an evening holding your hand and pretend nothing happened,” he said in a low voice. There was no hesitancy. He was a man determined to get this out.

“Ok,” she said, startled at the complete lack of preamble. “Well, what did happen?” She asked, still guarded, choosing her words carefully.

“I don’t know Robin. I don’t even know what made me do it, but as soon as we stopped outside Nick and Ilsa’s it was like all the lights were green and I put my foot down. Are you telling me you didn’t feel it? Because it felt like you felt it,” he said. He was earnest and warm.

Robin pressed her lips together briefly, touched by his honestly and directness, and after a second, she decided respect demanded she respond in kind. She reached over and put her mug down on the table beside them.

“I didn’t just feel it. I think I started it,” she admitted. “I touched your hand in the car deliberately, and I… I couldn’t follow through. It was a spur of the moment thing, and I just felt a bit silly, so I chickened out. I didn’t expect you to notice.”

Strike looked at her like she’d just revealed that she was, in fact, a fairy queen, and she couldn’t help laughing. He shook his head a little in amused wonderment.

“I thought I’d imagined that. I mean, yeah, I noticed, but I thought it was an accident. I thought I’d respond when we sat down, and see what happened, and it just sort of escalated when you didn’t slap my hand away,” he explained.

“I’ll say it escalated. Ilsa was practically ready to go out and buy me a toothbrush to make me stay,” Robin was still gently laughing.

Strike winced, good naturedly. “Yeah, sorry. I should have realized, but I got a bit carried away. She didn’t let it drop after you’d gone, either. I ended up leaving the rest of the lasagne and hiding in my room just to escape,” he told her, and she knew he was emphasizing how serious it was because he left food behind and she continued to smile.

There was a companiable quiet, and he rubbed his jaw and held his hand there for a minute, his elbow on his knee, before looking at her. He reached out and caught her left hand in his right. She had almost known he was going to do it, and she wasn’t a bit sorry. Holding back had been requiring the effort of holding apart strong magnets.

“I’m really sorry I let you leave like that. I thought… I thought I’d misread everything. That I’d steamrollered you all night and ruined it. Then you didn’t phone, and I was sure I’d blown it,” he said, intently.

“And then I sent you a bloody love heart like a teenager and really mixed it up!” Robin said, still smiling as she looked down at their hands, entwined.

“Yeah, thanks for closing the door so firmly on me getting any sleep at all with _that_ ,” He laughed, and impulsively took her other hand too, shifting further round so they were facing each other.

“I want this. I really want this. But I don’t want to push my luck, and I don’t want to push you away,” he said, both his thumbs running over her knuckles, slowly.

“I… I don’t know what ‘this’ is, Cormoran,” Robin admitted. “I’d like to know what it is you want. I’m not keen on messing up our friendship either.”

He blinked, and she was taken aback by his reaction.

“I want… I want you,” he replied, his tone surprised. “I want _us_. What did you think I want?”

“I don’t know, I don’t… I thought you wouldn’t think of me like that. I know we’re best mates, and I know we think a lot of each other, but I didn’t think you, you know, fancied me,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks reddening as she tried not to gabble.

He let out a sound that was half snort, half incredulous gasp. “You can’t be serious. You’re gorgeous. Why wouldn’t I fancy you?”

She shook her head, embarrassed. “I don’t know, I’m just, you know, ordinary. I’m tidy and polite and I didn’t think you liked that. I thought you liked dazzling and exciting and beautiful like,” she paused, realizing this particular stone in her shoe was never going to be shaken out unless she said something. “Like Charlotte.”

Strike looked winded. He let go of her right hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose, screwing up his eyes like he had a sudden headache. Robin thought she had just demolished everything for a second, but he still held tightly on to her left hand.

“Fucksake,” he muttered, and sighed.

Robin’s heart was in her mouth. She had no idea what was going to happen now.

“Why would I want Charlotte?” He asked, after he’d rubbed his hand over his entire face. “Why would you think I wanted a woman whose idea of love is trying to top herself and phoning me to let me know?”

“I don’t know, Strike. I don’t know because you’ve never said,” she replied, sounding fiercer than she intended.

“Well, I don’t! I don’t even know why you would bring her up!”

“You don’t know why I’d bring up the woman you were with for, what, a decade and a half? You’ve got no idea why I’d compare myself to your relationship with a beautiful woman who you shared your life with and who you took so bloody long to get over?” Robin couldn’t hold it back now the floodgates were open, and she gave up trying to be careful.

Strike frowned. Robin pressed in.

“I mean, why would it occur to me that I am just your work partner, just your mate, and however much I might think that **I** feel something more than that, there’s no point because I’m just boring? Christ, Strike. I’m not a bloody mind reader. How am I supposed to know how you feel about her, or me, unless you say?”

“You didn’t pick it up from your birthday present, or the late night phonecalls, or spending the evening holding your bloody hand and then coming over here at three in the morning in the pissing rain?!” He returned, with the same heat.

“No, I didn’t. I need to hear things from you. We’ve been here before. If you leave blanks, they’ll get filled, and I can’t see inside your head!”

“Well, fine, you want to know? I’ll tell you. I haven’t thought about Charlotte in months. I changed my number so she wouldn’t be able to fling any more barbed wire at me when I wasn’t expecting it, and I haven’t missed her for a second since I did it. But I’ve thought about you every single fucking day for years now, and there is no comparison between the two of you. I can’t even be bothered to try. It’d be like comparing the measles to a four-course meal. Why would I choose the measles?” He thundered, and he was so exercised he’d dropped her other hand and stood up, running both hands over his hair and gesturing widely.

They looked at one another, eyes wide, breath quickened. Robin looked down, trying to process the enormity of what he’d just said, unsure of how to convey how incredibly full her heart was. She looked up as she felt the sofa shift as his bulk returned to sit, closer to her now.

“I adore you, Robin. OK?” He said, his voice pleading and warm. He took hold of her right hand and drew it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss on the back of it. Their eyes were locked together, and her mouth hung open slightly as she pulled in oxygen and tried to stop the pooling tears from falling. She failed, and wiped away the tumbled line of wet from her cheek.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I think I’ve got that now.”

There was a pause, no awkwardness at all. It felt to Robin like the moment you step off an air-conditioned plane into tropical heat and sun and feel completely alive.

“I think you nailed it when you compared me to food,” she laughed, and he grinned.

The moment of levity passed, and it was replaced with something altogether headier, as he reached out his left hand and slipped it round the back of her head and pulled her into a kiss without any ceremony or hesitation at all. If the touch of his finger had sent electricity through her, the touch of his mouth almost knocked her unconscious, and she succumbed to it like her life depended on it. She reached her hands round his neck, up into his hair, pulling her legs out of their cross so that she could better press herself against him in response to a kiss that was a hundred times more intense than in her dream.

It must have been more than a minute before they pulled apart slightly to catch a breath, and Robin felt giddy and playful, rubbing her nose gently against his. She wasn’t just on fire, she was blazing, and the feeling was compelling and overwhelmingly terrifying all at the same time. This was really happening. She dotted a few light kisses on his face, but he seemed more determined than playful, and he caught her mouth with his again and she felt his tongue trace her lower lip, and his hand press into her lower back, pulling her further into him. She felt the merest trace of embarrassment as she whimpered into his mouth in response, but the sound seemed to intensify his kiss, and the pressure of his hands, one running up and down her back, one tangled in her hair.

She was dizzy with desire, and it took a few seconds to register that he had shifted his weight to pull them up to standing. He broke the kiss, his darkened eyes focusing on hers.

“Shall we…?” He asked, and she nodded mutely.

He crushed her mouth with another kiss again, and then took her hand as he pulled away, leading her down towards her bedroom. Her legs felt like jelly as she followed him, her heart pounding in her ears. Once in, he closed the door behind them, and turned back to her, taking her face with both his hands and pulling her into a deep, slow kiss, and she felt no embarrassment at the noises she made now, noticing his every response to her. She ran her hands over his chest and rested them on his shoulders, squeezing slightly before running them to the buttons of his shirt and beginning to fumble them open. She managed two, but in her nerves, the third refused to co-operate, and she made a frustrated noise into his mouth. He pulled back with a gentle laugh.

“Need some help?” He asked.

“Well, I’m normally quite good with the basics, but I’m a bit off my game tonight,” she responded, remembering the dropped fork. Grinning, he quickly finished opening the shirt, and she reached forward to run her hands through the hair there, snatching another kiss as she did so. He reached down to the hem of her pyjama top and pulled it over her head. The vulnerability of standing in front of him, wearing only her pyjama bottoms, and the reality of what was happening made her catch her breath, and she fought a sudden coyness. She wanted to raise her arms to cover her breasts, but she managed to hold them down to wrap only round her waist, defensively.

Strike seemed to sense her nervousness, and slipped his hands through her elbows, pulling her arms gently apart and bringing her flush against his bare chest. The tremulous coyness subsided as she sank into the sensuous feel of his chest hair against her own naked flesh, and something primal bubbled up inside her as she felt his unmistakable erection against her belly, and they kissed again. She pushed his shirt over his shoulders, and he reached round to tug it off, without breaking the kiss.

He walked her backwards towards the bed, and she felt the frame bump against her calves. The solidness of the mattress against the back of her knees seemed to cut through the incoherent sweep of desire, and she broke the kiss, partly to breathe, partly to ask him the sensible question about if he had anything. He had already begun to trace languid kisses down her neck, but he froze at the question and muttered a curse into her shoulder. He drew back enough to face her.

“I honestly didn’t think it through, not to this point,” he said, apologetically.

The primal desire mixed with Robin’s level-headed practicality, and she found a mischief of her own.

“Then you have even more reasons to appreciate my organization skills. There’s a box in the bathroom cabinet,” she said, and he laughed delightedly, and they tumbled onto the bed in another kiss. He didn’t linger, though, pushing himself back up on his elbows, kissing her nose and getting up again.

“Wait there. Don’t start without me,” he said at the door, disappearing quickly, and Robin laughed quietly and lay back, rubbing her forehead, savouring the absurd happiness she was feeling, before the sound of his footsteps returning ramped up the tension in her core and the point of no return approached.

She propped herself up on her elbows and he stood at the foot of the bed for a second. She didn’t feel quite as exposed as when he had first removed her top, but his looming presence was a bit intimidating none-the-less, and when he didn’t get straight back on the bed, she cocked her head to one side.

“What?” She asked.

“I’m just taking a minute to enjoy you,” he said, his voice low and honeyed with desire, and Robin felt heat start to glow within herself. She lay back against the bed again and raised her arms above her head, the affection in his gaze making her bold. She felt the bed dip a little as he bent forward, planting his arms on the mattress either side of her legs and beginning to kiss his way up her body, and from the first brush of his lips on her thighs she knew the point of no return had long passed.

He placed each languid kiss on her skin with reverence, lingering a little at the place where her stomach curved into her breasts. She had sunk so far into the sensations, she hadn’t realized she brought her arms down and twined them into his hair as he ran his tongue lightly on the sensitive skin of her neck, and then she couldn’t help but tug him up to her mouth. It occurred to her that she might have expected the bulk of him to crush her down more, but he was holding himself slightly to the side of her. His left hand was at her waist, his arousal keen against her hip and he reached round to take one of her hands from his hair and lace his fingers with hers. She ran her other hand down through his chest hair and pulled at his belt.

“I could try, but I think I’d probably fail again,” she whispered. His mouth twisted into a knowing smile, and he took his hand from her waist and deftly unfastened himself.

“You only have to ask,” he said, his hand flat on her stomach now, and slipping beneath the flimsy elastic at the top of her pyjama trousers, and her breath hitched as another wave of passion hit with his touch, and she arched into it. He was covering her collarbone and neck with those full-mouthed kisses as his hand moved, and this was a new electric circuit she hadn’t even allowed herself to conceive before now. He moved with her, his hips rocking against hers, and as she shifted into an arch again, she reached down to push her trousers completely off. He broke their contact and she let out a moan of protest, and he chuckled in response.

“Give me a minute, woman,” he said, as she kicked the trousers off her right foot, and he sat back on the edge of the bed to remove his own. He eased off the prosthetic, too, before turning back to her. She grabbed at his shoulders a little clumsily.

“Christ alive, what’s the rush?” he rumbled, still amused. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She was glad of the half light to disguise her blush.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Don’t need you to be, Robin. Just trust me, ok?” He assured her, and his next kiss pushed further, beyond languid and slow, straight back into the fierce need that she had felt from him on the sofa. Completely naked now, completely open, readier and more exhilarated than she had ever been in her life, she lost herself in the feel of him against her, in what his hands were doing, in the intensity of knowing she was here with him now, relishing every confident move he made with the intention of delighting her.

“Please,” she whispered against his mouth, and he understood. Too many milliseconds later, he was moving with her once more, hitching one of her legs round his waist and claiming her cries with his mouth again and everything was stars and fire and him, him, him.

When she came to herself again, the room refocusing in the strange blue light of early dawn, tangled up with him and overcome with a blissful exhaustion, she couldn’t hold back gentle laughter. It sounded more resonant as she lay on her back, and Strike raised his head to look at her.

“What?” He asked, propping his head up with his crooked arm.

“I can’t believe I ever thought it was a good idea to hold back from that,” she said. She laughed some more when she saw the look of contented pride on his face. There’d be no holding back now, she thought. Once you complete a circuit, you just need the voltage, and she now hadn’t the slightest doubt about the certainty of the connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I followed through all the way because that really was the point of the exercise. I'm not especially a smut writer, but if I'm exploring Robin's sexual confidence dynamic, then it's the way it's going to go down, I'm afraid. I really enjoyed writing the dialogue the most, though, tbh, and you'll notice my smut is as romance-led as anything else. Hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by many conversations with friends both on the Denmark Street discord and elsewhere, about catalysts and the dynamics of Robin's sexuality in comparison to Strike's, and the fact that actually hands can be the sexiest bits of our bodies. Plus I really liked the idea of Michelle being a total Strellacott shipper, even though I genuinely have no idea what Rowling will actually do with her. I'm also not quite sure how far I'm going to take it, so it's got a mature rating just in case...


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